Monday, July 18, 2016

My next stop in my urban exploration series brings me home. Well, to my first home. Roseland on Chicago's Far South Side. Mention Roseland to a person of the right age and two words usually come out: white flight.

Roseland's boundaries are bit nonsensical now, as the building of I-57, the Dan Ryan Expressway, and the Bishop Ford Expressway and have dissected the neighborhood. Roughly its northern border is the Chicago and Western Indiana Railroad tracks on the north, the Metra Electric on the east, Eggleston--up to 103rd street on the west and then Halsted, and 115th Street on the south.

Visitors to the location of my last urban exploration piece, the Pullman National Monument, will receive an unpleasant greeting if they wander west under the Metra tracks when they see this large abandoned apartment building at Vernon and 110th Place.

A block away is a tiny grocery store, one of those places where the cashier is positioned behind bullet-proof glass. I took a picture outside of the place, not a very good one, and some jerk hollered at me, "Why are you taking pictures?" Well, why not? Here's a warning to the twenty-or-thirty-so tourists who visit Pullman every day--stay out of Roseland. This is the part of Chicago known as the Wild 100s. More on this area later.

Our next stop a two-story brick home at 9601 S. Princeton that, based on what is left of the For Sale sign, didn't sell. While taking this picture I met a man who was on photo duty for a bank that just foreclosed on a home. The Great Recession continues to drag on in Chicago. He's black--I'm white, he said that I "need to be careful here." But this is a nice part of Roseland.

Two blocks from this battered dwelling is the Princeton Park section of Roseland, which has always been majority black. Built in 1944 during the World War II housing shortage where probably the last farm in Roseland sat.

Before it was annexed by Chicago the Dutch were the first Europeans to live in large numbers in Roseland. Farmers mostly, these Hollanders were. And while it's generally a misnomer to call Dutch people Hollanders, the first Rosleand settlers came from Eenigenburg, which is in the Holland province of the Netherlands. Over 100 years later when I putt-putting around the Fernwood section of Roseland in my little red fire wagon the Dutch were a distinct but vocal minority; Irish, Lithuanians, Italians, and Scandinavians overwhelmed the neighborhood years before. But there was an imperiousness about the Roseland Dutch that I recall even as a six-year-old. My mother recently reminded me of the saying I'd hear, "If you ain't not Dutch, you ain't much." And they meant it--their haughtiness went far beyond ethnic pride. These Dutch Reformed Calvinists were the elect--and you weren't. What did that mean to little boy like myself? I remember being told my parents and my brothers, "He won't play with you--he's Dutch." And that was largely true. The Hollander children for the most part were instructed by their parents to stay away from kids like myself--after all, I was allowed to play on Sunday--after going to church. And I could watch television on Sunday. Older children and teens would participate in competitive sports on the Sabbath--Roseland had a top-notch Little League Baseball program--and go to dances and enjoy other frivolities, but not the Dutch. Oh, dancing was to be avoided at all times by them.

This was their thinking: Dutch parents did not want their kids complaining to them, "How come John Ruberry can go to Ferwnood Park on Sunday and I can't?" Or, "How come we have to go church twice on Sunday and other families go just once?" It was best for children to avoid these non-elect troublemakers so these uncomfortable conversations would be infrequent.

If you think I'm being to harsh on the Dutch--or if you are enjoying this Dutch-bashing--then stick around for the exclamation point.

Roseland is graced by many Chicago-style bungalows, such as this abandoned one at 316 W. 100th Street.

We've now crossed a set of railroad tracks into the aforementioned Fernwood section of Roseland, the best part of the neighborhood then and now. That's the old Ruberry house at 10536 S. Eggleston--but we lived on one of the more modest streets in Fernwood.

Up above is Mother Marathon Pundit, on Easter perhaps, with my oldest brother sometime around 1967.

My family moved to Palos Heights a dozen miles to the southwest in 1968. My parents never felt comfortable in Roseland and we had outgrown this bungalow--there were seven of us packed into a three bedroom house. Blockbusting, also known as panic-peddling, had already begun in Roseland, the concept was beyond the understanding of a kindergartner, but I heard from older kids that "the negroes were coming." Sometimes that other word was used. When my folks bought this place in 1959 their plan was to save up enough money until they could afford a home in the more desirable South Shore neighborhood to the east--where my father grew up. But white flight had come to South Shore too around the same time and my parents sold the bungalow, which as it was for almost all families at the time, their biggest investment, at a loss.

A year later integration, such as it was, came to most of Roseland and the change did not go smoothly. Some blocks went from being all white to all black in six months. That's why it was called white flight. The anger from the assassination of Martin Luther King and the riots that followed were the harbinger of a painful era in American race relations. At my elementary school in Palos I regularly would meet kids who moved from Roseland or the neighboring West Pullman neighborhood, they told me stories of being chased home from school every day by blacks. These were nine and ten-year-olds.

Even Fernwood has forsaken homes, such as this one at 10519 South Lowe.

I don't know the contemporaneous side of the story from blacks as the grade school, middle school, and high school I attended had no African-American students. I can only guess. Perhaps their parents, each of whom suffered the sting of institutional racism, told their children that white people had it too good for too long and now it was time for payback. Or maybe when there were few African Americans in Roseland the blacks were chased home from school by whites every day.

The Fernwood Park Race Riot of 1947 was a fresh memory for most adults then--three days of rioting occurred when a few black World War II veterans moved into a Chicago Housing Authority project on the western edge of Roseland. Does anyone seriously believe that the vastly outnumbered blacks started the riot? The Chicago Police, as was the case through the 1960s, routinely sided with whites.

Because what happened in Roseland in the late 1960s is an unhappy story, this is a largely forgotten part of American history. Parents, whose ultimate responsibility is to protect their children, were forced to sell their homes. Or you could fairly say they were compelled to flee. Things didn't go well for the new black residents either. More on that in a little bit.

Around this time of South Side racial upheaval, the Kinks released their then-ignored masterpiece, The Village Green Preservation Society, which included the song "Big Sky," which neatly summarizes the narrative so far.

Big Sky looked down on all the people looking up at the big sky,
Everybody's pushing one another around.
Big Sky feels sad when he sees the children scream and cry,
But the Big Sky's too big to let it get him down.

Quadrophenia from a few years later by The Who sold much better--this snippet from "Helpless Dancer" captures some of the rage of that time:

And you get beaten up by blacks
Who though they worked still got the sack.

Now it's time to head back east over those tracks--the wrong side of them--to the worst part of Rosleand, the Wild 100s--the Far South Side version of Englewood.

Many of the Roseland homes purchased during the blockbusting era were financed by FHA-insured mortgage loans, but many of the new homeowners couldn't afford the monthly payments. The lenders still got their money but the federal government was the owner of many now-abandoned homes, and the credit of these new Roselanders was ruined. And property values in Roseland plummeted again. Liberal social engineering has painful consequences. And the FHA Loan Scandal of the late 1960s and early 1970s is has been swept under the rug by the guilty and their protectors.

In 1972 my siblings and I convinced our father to take us to see our old home on Eggleston after attending a White Sox game. We were unprepared for what followed. One-third of the homes on our old block were boarded up--including our beloved old bungalow. Each of these vacant houses had orange signs with black lettering which read, "Federal government property--stealing from this house is stealing from you." I'm not a believer in single events--outside of traumatic ones--reshaping a person's psyche, but if you had to point out a moment in my life that made me a conservative--this is it.

There was an uncomfortable silence as my father drove us out of Roseland back to Palos Heights.

I'm certain the financial toll of this debacle in remaking communities has never been calculated. But as I mentioned earlier, historians aren't interested in stories like this one. Which is why I'm telling it because no one else wants to, and as the years pass, few will even be able to do so.

American Four Square homes are rare in Chicago but rather common elsewhere in the Midwest. It appears this one on 107th Street may be gone soon and Chicago will have one less of them.

Six years ago Roseland, mostly because of the Wild 100s section--was the most dangerous part of Chicago. It's possible that other areas of "Chiraq" have gotten far worse and Roseland has merely stabilized. Of my urban exploration adventures so far I've only been more anxious in North Lawndale. Thomas Wolfe was right, you can't go home again.

I'm repeatedly warned by loved ones that I'm foolish to enter these dangerous neighborhoods--unarmed. But I take precautions. While walking past this abandoned frame home on Perry Street an obese man his his 20s wearing an Indianapolis Colts shirt began yelling "Hey buddy, hey buddy" in a menacing tone of voice while running towards me. I turned around and walked slowly away. It's fortunate he was a fat guy because he didn't run very fast.

Oh, here's a crucial urban-ex tip: When being pursued, always keep a consistent pace and never show fear. And always have an exit route planned.

That exit route took me into an alley past what I believe was a garage, then back on to 107th Street where I was just an anonymous, albeit Caucasian, face in the crowd. I continued to walk east, to Michigan Avenue, not the fancy shops north of downtown, but to what was once a South Side thriving shopping district.

By the early 1980s Roseland struggled once again with economic turmoil. The 1981-1983 recession hit the Great Lakes States hard. Things got so bad that a group of Roseland and West Pullman Roman Catholic Churches, including the one where I was baptized, formed the Calumet Community Religious Conference, which was run by followers of leftist Chicagoan Saul Alisnky, who died in 1972. But none of these activists were black--so they hired Barack Obama, who was living in New York at the time. Obama chose not to live on the Far South Side when he arrived in the city, he chose the Hyde Park neighborhood, home of the University of Chicago.

Obama eventually ran the Developing Communities Project, which chose a shuttered department store on Michigan Avenue for his headquarters. Gately's People Store, pictured above, could have been that place. It closed its doors in 1981, thirty-five years later the decrepit long-unlit neon sign is still there.

It was at Gately's where I first met Santa Claus.

Among Obama's goal's at DCP was to retrain blue collar workers who lost their jobs during the early 1980s recession and reinvigorate the region, and of course, organize the community and whatever that entails.

But other than advancing his career, which of course brought him to the White House, Obama's endeavors in Roseland ended in failure. I mean c'mon now, look at the place!

You thought I forgot about the Dutch. On the corner of 107th and Michigan stands a spectacular-looking old Dutch Reformed Church. (Sorry, no pics, the sun was at a bad angle.) It was sold to a black congregation in 1971, becoming the Lilydale Progressive Baptish Church. The Hollanders left with a Parthian shot by taking the church's cornerstone with them. Not even Detroit's avowedly racist Temple Baptist stooped that low when it sold its church to a black Baptist group.

Everybody talking about racial equality
'Cos everybody's equal in the good Lord's eyes
But if I told you that God was black
What would you think of that
I bet you wouldn't believe it.

Chicagoland Board Up is not lacking for business in Chicago.

The Rosemoor section of Rosleand is dominated by vacant lots. Picture above is a soon-to-be what we called back in the day "prairie" at 101st and Michigan.

"He grew up a small-town boy which used to be possible in the big city," that's what Pulitzer Prize winning columnist Mike Royko said about Mayor Richard J. Daley, who ruled Chicago during from 1955-1976 in his best-selling book Boss. But by the 1960s most families in Chicago owned a car, sometimes two, but there that village feel in Roseland remained. Everybody knew who lived in every house on the block where you lived. I was much more of a small-town boy in the city than was I was in the suburbs.

When I arrived in Palos Heights in '68 I was overwhelmed by the quietude of my new suburban life. Yes, Roseland was in its own way was a small town, but it was a cacophonous one. Kids weren't allowed to ring door bells, I yelled "Yo Russell....can you come out and play" outside a friend's house. The reply might have been screamed back at me by a parent, "Come back later, John, we're having dinner!" Or, "Go away, it's past your bedtime!" Baseball was played on the street, when an automobile approached the participants would howl, "Car!" Often the annoyed driver would honk back.

Children growing up in such a place are compelled to process information quickly. Old Roseland is gone, but it never left me. If you need evidence, this post--and my work at Marathon Pundit--is your proof. I weave seemingly unconnected subjects together into a body of work that makes sense. Well, at least to me and some of my readers it does. In this single entry I cover politics, rock music, neighborhood history, architecture, and boyhood recollections.

Now that the memory-hole is wide open, my mind is dominated by the ethereal images of the Big Snow of 1967, playing in places where I wasn't allowed to, such as the Roseland Pumping Station, the smartass greasers, middle-aged men in white tank-top shirts and women in house dresses sitting on front porches every summer evening, the tinker and his knife-sharpening wheel, and of course the racket of the city populate my mind as I conclude this post.

21 comments:

I enjoyed this post John. I have a few other specific comments too; specifically, 1) thanks for mentioning Obama's heinous Sec 8 agenda, as discussed on the following edition of The Teri O'Brien Show http://www.spreaker.com/user/teriobrien/dubuque-ia-part-of-obamas-chicago2) I share your loved ones' concern about you going around in these dangerous neighborhoods,esp unarmed 3) these stories with your recollections and Chicago history would make an informative, entertaining book. Think about it Best, T

Wonderful post! Very nostalgic and nauseating at the same time. I grew up in Roseland in the 1960's. It truly was a great place to live - and very safe. My mother worked at Gately's. I certainly remember stern ol' Mr. Gately :-). I attended Mendel CHS. The memories of Roseland still feel like "home" in spite of the visual reality. I miss a lot of great things that were there.

You said it perfectly. I miss my old home town. I have no place to go back to or call home like my children do. They call our home in Indiana their home to go back to. I lived in several places ion the far south side of Rosalind from 111th street all the way to 121st street and Michigan. I went to West Pullman and then Scanlan elementary and then to Fenger High School. I visited the area once about 15 years ago and was horrified at the condition of the neighborhoods. Thanks again for all the work and time you put into this article. Be safe!

John, I was your neighbor from105th & Normal. Your story brought back so many memories, both happy and sad. It was a great place to grow-up. I went to St. Helena's grammar school and Mercy CHS. Thanks for sharing your excellent writing skills and the time and research put into all of these moments!

I grew up in Roseland in 1948. 116th Priceton Ave. Went to Scandland grammer school and then on to Curtis, Fenger High. I moved to Calumet park Ill. After I got married to my childhood sweet heart. That didn't last long. We were forced to move from there due to "Red Lined" areas. I marched for reform and accomplished quite a bit while I and others pledged to remove our money from banks that weren't loaning whites money to move into areas that greedy bankers and realestate people wanted to turn over for a quick buck! Panic peddeling and blacks coming into our area to rob our kids bikes and scare folks to putting their homes up for sale!

I saw a once beautiful area turn to a ghost town in a matter of three years! Burned out buildings, dogs running lose, trash and bars everywhere you looked! Companies such as International Harvest closing their doors, and mom and pop businesses either burnt down or forced to move somewhere safe!

The black were given a chance to make something of their lives, and purchase a home away fromt he getto way of life, and what did they do with it? Trashed it!

And now people who want to return to see their childhood homes are afraid that they might get shot? God help us all!

I appreciate your post, sad tho it is. My home was at 115th & Normal & I lived there from 1930 to 1950... quite different then! Then my husband & I bought our first home at 108th & Union where we lived until 1960 when we moved to the north suburbs due to employment. Recently I googled my home address on google earth & it looks like the house is still there, & there appear to be other houses & "trees" in the area. I often think I'd like to visit , but unsure if that would be wise...thanks again

John, first let me say thank you for bringing back beautiful memories for me as I grew up in Roseland in the 50's until 1970 when my parents were forced to move their large family to Midlothian Il. They could not sell the house we lived in on 115th Wabash (of which you bravely photographed for me) (dead end street between State and Michigan Avenue - bordered by the train tracks). They had remained too long. They rented it out to a remaining white family. Not only did they trash the inside of the house, they started a fire inside the garage. My parents had them evicted. I can remember how our family (7 siblings) rallied together to help mom and dad fix up our beloved childhood home. That was the first time I actually picked up a paint brush! Believe me, we spent many weekends along with a lot of sweat and tears getting the house back in shape. We made it fun. We knew mom and dad were devastated. My dad worked at Ingersoll Products all his life in the factory (30 years). My mom was a homemaker. That was the first home they purchased after renting a home owned by mom's parents on 114th and Yale Avenue. We had outgrown the two bedroom house. They had 6 children at the time. I remember two sets of bunk beds in this tiny room where you could actually reach across and touch the other bed! I remember the Wabash house costing somewhere between $112,000 and $115,000. I was going into 3rd grade at the time. We attended St. Louis of France Church and school. This house was a castle to us! It was a "two flat" and it had a basement. That means there is a kitchen, bathroom and living room on both levels. However, the dream of having my own bedroom faded quickly. In order to make the mortgage payment, they closed off part of the upstairs (there was a door) and rented it out to a very nice Checkoslovakian man. The upstairs living room became "our" bedroom; it looked like a scene from the move "Annie"! The renter, Carl, worked atthe backery on Michigan Avenue. He would bring the day old backerygoodies to us. You didn't lock your doors back then that's just the way it was. He would open the door to our kitchen from the back enclosed porch and put the tray filled with long johns,jelly rolls, cinnamon bread, donuts etc on the kitchen counter! Well, I could go on and on, like many of you who know me would agree,but let me end with this thought. "ROSELAND" was a community made up of people from many different ethnic backgrounds who all got along and helped each other. My family is Italian. Most of my friends were not. We all got along! That is why I thank John immensely for keeping the Roseland story alive today. "ROSELAND" is synonymous with "FAMILY"! I had the best childhood and still have the best memories when I look back to what I like to call "the good old days". With that being said, I do have some advice for John. You should think about listening to your loved ones concerns about your safety. Life is too precious, John. Thank you.

,,My brother and sister were born when the folks lived in Pullman. Then they moved to West Pullman, 119th and Parnell. WE went to West Pullman school across the street (closed a few years ago) and then Fenger. There were two big murals in the assembly hall, WPA work, I think. I wonder what happened to them. We Attended St Catherine of Geoa church - Guessing 117th and Lowe. Parents left when I graduated high school in 1971. I had worked at Gatelys (even saw the old man in the store room one day) and at Gordon's. My dad worked at International Harvester (later renamed Navistar.) When I started kindergarten, my mom when to work for Kasle Steel in the old Pullman building (the one that burned.) She didn't tell them about me fearing they wouldn't hire her with such a young child. When I occasionally went with my dad to pick her up from work, I had to duck down in the back seat so no one would see me. After we moved, my dad still had to fix a couple of little things, like replace the oven timer bell, required by HUD. The new residents had no furniture and I don't think they were there much more than a year. So my parents' paid off and future retirement home was empty and eventually burned down. Mine was nothing special but there were some beautiful, distinct and solid hones and apt blogs in that neighborhood. A few years ago, I looked them up on the assessor's site and altho I was prepared to see very, very, very bad conditions, it was actually even much worse. I'm not a sentimental person but I cried at the utter and senseless devastation. During the big snow storm, they had abandoned a chgo garbage truck with plow in the parking lot of the Tastee -Freeze across from our house. My dad got in and plowed our whole street. I was so impressed and kinda, still am. Don't go back.

thank you for your story. My grand parents had 7 building in the old lithuanian In the old Lithuanian neighborhood. Just their building is still standing at 10800 s Michigan ave. 2 on both side are gone. My Dad was born there. My mom was born at 101014 s Indiana aver Shirley Kaufman. They talked about how wonderful it was growing up there. So many great stories they told me. They bought a home at 11540 s church st. Mom would take me shopping on Michigan ave once a month. Dad would take me to the Roseland Theater to watch horror shows like Vicente price movies. So I have great memories to.

We had to move because the grammar school I went to turned 50% black kin one when the wise school system moved the school boundary line. I was in first grade. The teachers were being attacked d and my class had 7 teachers in one year. For that reason the entire first grad was held back. So my parent put me in catholic school near 115 and western. We had to run home to get home before the blacks or wait at school an hour till they passed through our neighbor hood. As you mentioned they would beat us up and any white’s kids they saw in packs. The blacks would walk down church street running up to doors and seeing if they were UN locked. If the door was not locked the blacks would run into a house grabbing what they could. This was every day; our house was broken into 7 times. That why we and every white family moved. We move dot Elmhurst a wonderful place to grown up NO Blacks thank God. The south side was a great place to grow up if it stayed white. You give them a chance and they destroy whatever they get. Point out one city that is better when they move in. Thank you again for the memories. PS my grandmother lived in W Pullman Lithuanian but had to have her move. Her neighbor was knifed the following year walking from jewel he was in his 70’s. About 2 years latter her land lady was murdered in her bed. It was the nuns who found her when she did not show up for church. Now Even Market Park was a great place now look at it.neighborhod

Like you, I lived on 105th and Egglestoon in the 50's until the mid 60's. On our block were the Galloways, Cronquists, VanDermeers,Fennama's, Etc. It was a beautiful area with each block lined with Elm trees.Our park of choice was Fernwood. Wonderful baseball fields, tennis courts and ice skating rink in the winter.People has respect for their property and others. Lawns were cut, leaves were raked, flowers planted and homes were painted and taken of. Going up to "the ave" was always a lot of fun.I'd walk the tracks behind my house to 111th and then turn east. It was long before I was passing by the White Castle & YMCA.My El. Schools were Dunne & Mt Vernon. After that I attended Fenger. Home of the mighty Titans where I spent four glorious years. Then, around 1966 the tide changed. We heard the blacks were moving in on 104th & Eggleston.Folks that lived there their whole life were moving out.Fernwood Park, where Dick Butkus played was changing as well. More basketball courts were going up and the fence around the park came down. I recall my folks selling their well taken care of home to a nice looking black family for $500 down. ( They lived there a full year on that before being evicted.) Today, that same same home is a mess from neglect.I went back there about 20 years ago on an early Sunday morning to see the place one last time. When I got to 106 and Eggleston a cop pulled me over. He walked up to my car and asked," What the hell are you doing around here?" I told hin and he said to me..." Boy, turn your car around and go back to Iowa. This is no place for you." which I did. I swear, if the neighborhood hadn't changed, my folks would of lived the rest of their lives there and I wouldn't of been far away. Life was simple and good. Anyone who lived there in the 50's and 60's knows why....it was our Mayberry.

Growing up in north Roseland at 66 east 101st Place my family had to move in 1962 and then again from 10857 south Edbrooke ave in 1972. Yes Roseland was great at one time in my life growing up but now it sad to see the change that has happen to it over the years.

I just happened across this, John, while researching for some information on the names of taverns in Roseland during the 50's for the novel I am writing. This was a very good piece. I would be very leery of going into the neighborhoods you are going into though. I am from Roseland, born at Roseland Hospital, lived in Pullman on Langley Ave. until I was 6, then 117th and Michigan, then 120th and State. I went to Pullman School for KG, then I also went to St. Louis of France School from Gr. 1-8. In fact, Kathy Kraus, who commented above, was in my class! For high school, I went to Mother of Sorrows in Blue Island. My first job was at Pressure Sensitives, a little plant in Pullman, during the summer of 67'. I then worked at the Society of the Little Flower after school typing envelopes for the nuns who operated the non-profit Catholic charity on 113th and Michigan Ave, and also worked at Kinney's Shoes at 112th and Michigan. I met my husband, Jim, in 1967 and we frequented Pesavento's Restaurant every weekend. We met at the annual Old Fashioned Days they had "up the ave" every July. This Friday, July 14, 2017, we will have met each other 50 years ago! We celebrated our 47th wedding anniversary in April this year. I have good memories of Palmer Park's Pool and Day Camp, West Pullman Park swimming; Girl's Days = Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Remember there was NOT mixed swimming in those days and girls had to wear rubber swim caps that snapped under your chin in the pool. And WP Day Camp also. I remember going up the ave to Walgreen's for a Green River from the soda fountain counter, Gately's for donuts in the basement and for a hot dog. Remember banana splits at Woolworth's with balloons over the booths. You picked a balloon, popped it, and whatever the piece of paper inside the balloon said was what you paid, but never more than regular price and I think regular price was 50 cents. The Chuck Wagon on 112th Place had the best cheeseburgers with fries on those oval plates. Everyone had their favorite pizza parlor; either Nino's, Giovanni's, or Ken & Dick's. I remember those being the top three. The best Italian Beef sandwiches were from Vinci's Drive-In on 127th & State. Frozen banana's from Henry's store next to the State Street IC Station on 121st. And then we got most of our penny candy from Henry Adent's grocery store on 119th St. between State & Lafayette. We would buy these cute little animal erasers from Mrs. Hanneman at the Pink Pixie at 119th & Michigan, and my mother bought those ugly saddle shoes from the Home Store so they would last all year. Remember the "Junk Store" on the east side of Michigan Ave at 117th Place? It was a 2 story gray worn wooden building with steps going up into the store. We ice skated at Scanlon School's ice rink in the winter. They had two warming houses, one for the boys, one for the girls. The best fried chicken was at the Jolly Inn, and the organ at the State Theater was phenominal. We saw movies there, but in the 60's, they had bands play on Friday nights. We danced in the aisles. I remember seeing Sonny & Cher there when they first got started, had to be around 1966. And then, of course, there was the Mendel dances on Sunday nights, 7:00 - 10:30, and the Y Dances were on Saturday nights. I'm filling up your page, but I hope I have brought back many memories of days gone by. I have so many more, but I will quit now. Good night.

John, I stumbled onto your piece here and it led me to look at all your other explorations on the Marathon Pundit site. I have only been to Chicago one time in my life, Wrigley Field for a few days in the 1990s. I have no connection to these neighborhoods at all. But I think your work is very important. I enjoyed every bit of it and I really cant explain why. It is fascinating to me. I love looking at pictures of Detroit ruins too. The comments sections are great too. These places were once beautiful places and real people led wonderful lives there. To see the decay is really awful. These places are so sad now. I don't want to get too political here but I for the life of me cant see why these people still vote Democrat. What about that decision is and has gone well for them? Anyway stay safe and I hope you keep doing work like this, it is appreciated...

Thank you for sharing your memories of Roseland. We lived above Hufnagel's Bakery on the corner of 118th and South Michigan Avenue and I attended Scanlan grade school. I loved the lamb cakes at Easter in the display window. I recall the many places that have been described in previous posts...the gun metal gray clapboard "Junk Store", the array of penny candy available at Ray's (117th), greasy pizza boxes from Nino's (so good), buying school supplies on the basement floor of the Home Store, the soda fountain at Kresge's with the paper cone cups, and of course, Gately's - which seemed a bit magical to me with darkly lit wooden display cabinets. I crawled in one once - right during store hours. My grandmother was horrified. My favorite time was when they flooded the Scanlan playground for ice skating at night. Warming up in the long green field house. Or, the amazing Halloween open houses with cake walks and games. That creepy old witch in the little playground house where you'd feel eyeballs (peeled grapes) and guts (spaghetti). Adults really loved scaring kids back then. Kept us on our toes! Singing Christmas carols in the school with each grade level lined up in the hallways. The sound of our tiny voices bouncing and echoing up and down the four flights of stairwells as each class took turns. There was a tremendous sense of community although there was always a gritty grayness to the streets and the houses. Shabby creaky playground equipment. Houses that could use a fresh coat. A smog blanket of air thick with paint smells from Sherwin Williams or on a good day, potato chips from the Jay's factory. The dull patina of time, yet still so vivid in my memory. It was glorious to be a kid with all-day to explore. Equal measures danger and excitement. I recall the junk yard next to the Michigan Avenue 115th street overpass. Surely, an ogre lived there. I always ran as fast as possible under the overpass to escape his grasp. Life seemed simpler, yet full of possibilities. I am grateful that I grew up in a place like Roseland and remember it with a fond sense of nostalgia.

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